Value
by OneDarkandStormyNight
Summary: A quiet, little conversation between Dr. Quest and Race Bannon about the most important things of life, as they sit on the terrace of a centuries-old manor, looking out into the night and listening to Dr. Quest's two most valuable possessions.


_Lame title is product of several minutes' worth of me trying to come up with one that was not ridiculously cheesy. If anyone even reads this, please excuse it. *hehe*  
This little ficlet was inspired by a show from the originals called "The House of Seven Gargoyles," which can be viewed, in full, on YouTube (you didn't hear that from me *cough*). It's a missing scene, and can be placed at any point after their arrival at the manor. Yes, it has no real plot and/or action to it, but the show itself makes up for that, I think. So after you read, go watch!_

**Value**

"Is something wrong, Dr. Quest?"

The man in question raised his pale face and met the ice-gray eyes of his loyal friend and bodyguard.

"No, not particularly, Race," he answered, and then laughed. "At least, not in the traditional Quest Team way things go wrong."

Race smirked in acknowledgement and settled down beside his employer on the terrace of the old castle. A comfortable silence stretched out between the two men for a moment—the companionable stillness that comes between friends who need not speak to enjoy the other's company. Race watched the white stars twinkle overheard and listened to the nighttime hush of the woodland outside, and then noticed the familiar, studious expression clouding his friend's handsome face.

"I don't mean to pry, sir," he said with respect that probably was unnecessary, but when one was in the presence of Dr. Benton Quest, even being the closest of friends, it came naturally to show him the honor he was due, "but are you sure that you're okay? Looks to me like you're brooding about something."

Dr. Quest smiled and set his glass down on the side table between their ornamented chairs.

"Not quite brooding," he reassured. "I was simply thinking about something Ericson said earlier today."

"Don't tell me you're letting this talk of spirits and spooks get to you, Doctor," teased the bodyguard.

"Oh, no, nothing like that," replied Dr. Quest, "though I do feel like something is taking place here; we'll see, I suppose. I was talking about what he said when we first arrived, on the staircase. He said something along the lines that research and resolution were all that mattered."

"Yes, I remember." Race rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Said that the work was his life, or something like that. What of that has you so absorbed?"

There was another silence, this one shorter than the last, and the night's peace was broken by the sound of Bandit's exuberant yaps and the laughter of the two small boys from within the room.

Dr. Quest turned and looked over the back of the chair, and Race could see in his eyes that look which the scientist never acquired when looking at a fresh research specimen, or the latest exhibition of modern technology, or even a successful experiment or invention. No, the soft glow which deepened the auburn-haired man's sapphire eyes and caused a small smile to tug at his lips came only when he was watching the happy ease of his young boys.

"I was only thinking," he said at length, "what a shame it is that Ericson sees life that way, and that he's never truly known the feeling of having children to love, or a good friend in whom he could confide,"—he faced Race with a strangely grateful smile—"or even a yelping pup to hide in his camera bag on airline flights."

Race chuckled at that.

"I don't deny that work is valuable, especially in our mutual occupation," continued Dr. Quest, turning again to face the figures within the room, who were now yawning sleepily and settling down for the night. "As scientists, our goal is for the betterment of humanity. But for that to be the only thing in which a man puts his value—to have no true warmth or joy within him—must be a lonely way to live."

Race could not help but smile at his friend's quiet statements. It was rare that Benton Quest spoke in such a way—not that the father was not affectionate; it was certainly not that. Dr. Quest was much more affectionate than many believed, always sneaking little, friendly smiles at Race or winding his long, thin arm around one of his sons. He showed the love and care he had for his family in his own, unique way—recognizable enough to reassure and warm them, but not enough to make the gestures uncomfortable for them. Still, even knowing and identifying the feelings Dr. Quest had for them all, Race still felt oddly pleased to hear him voice it aloud.

"Lonely, for sure, Doctor," he agreed. "I, for one, am glad to have people to share my days with. If you don't mind my being so bold, sir—I've never had a family like I do in you and those kids."

For a moment, Race was afraid he had said too much (he had a habit of doing that, at times), because Dr. Quest did not acknowledge his admission for a minute, except when his brow wrinkled thoughtfully. Then, the scientist turned to study him for another minute, before his handsome face broke into a smile.

"I'm glad to hear you say so, Race," he said, reaching out his hand. "I've hoped that you see us as your family. I know the boys love you, and, to be entirely honest, I consider you more a brother than a bodyguard. You must know that, even should you someday decide to leave us, you will always be welcomed as a member of this team."

"Thank you, Dr. Quest," he said, relaxing as he gripped his friend's hand in return.

Dr. Quest patted his forearm, once, and then went inside to urge the dozing boys, and their nodding pup, to bed.

As Race watched the father gently tug on Jonny's arm and lift Hadji to his feet, and listened to the sleepy denials and answering commands, Race Bannon realized he could not imagine leaving these three—four, as Bandit was just as much kin as any of them—to the dangers of the world. He knew that he would die protecting them, if it became necessary—and it was not because he had vowed to do so as part of his job, but because, however strange a group they might be, they _were_ a family, and no matter what came or went, they always would be. He knew that he and Benton were in full agreement on one thing—there were things in life much more important than official titles and achievements.

Warmed by this thought, Race rose and each man lifted a half-sleeping child in his arms and carried him down the dark hall to the beds, with a yawning Bandit shuffling along behind.

**End**

_And there you have it...yes, I know it's not much. But I just can't help writing this stuff. I love these guys. ^^_


End file.
